


Rebirth, Chapter 1 - A Child's Hope

by Sister of Fierce Love (fluffywolfsister)



Series: Rebirth and Revenge: Ishtar's Chronicle [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, False Role Model, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Gen, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Pre-The Final Days (Final Fantasy XIV), Social Anxiety, The Child Scribes of Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), The Convocation of Fourteen (Final Fantasy XIV), The Disappearance of Azem (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 12:27:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29999316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffywolfsister/pseuds/Sister%20of%20Fierce%20Love
Summary: The Final Days are coming... and Amaurot is afraid. Though none are more afraid than Ishtar, a newly inducted child into the Scribes, the chroniclers of the world's past, present and future. Born for the explicit purpose of becoming a Scribe, she is their youngest - and one of their most talented - members. Yet she is plagued by fear, anxiety, and a desire for answers, as the Convocation meets and meets, and Azem is nowhere to be found...The beginning of the end of the star. The birth of an Ascian. And the start of the story of a corrupted child's vengeance...
Relationships: None
Series: Rebirth and Revenge: Ishtar's Chronicle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2206782
Kudos: 1





	Rebirth, Chapter 1 - A Child's Hope

A new day dawned in the city of Amaurot, the impeccable, high-rise buildings flanked by the pristine streets, nary a soul about this early in the morning. Stained glass dappled in deep blues and greens adorned each window and wall, the stone strong and serene. In one of these buildings, snugly nestled in a small space next to the Seat of the Convocation of Fourteen, were the offices of the Scribes – those charged with accurately and diligently cataloguing, recording and storing all of history, present and future. Theirs was a position afforded the utmost respect, and theirs was always a welcome presence at every new creation, every important meeting, the quiet, dutiful presence in the corners, scribbling away. Despite their busy profession, they were a friendly sort, participating in debates, observations, and general social gatherings, as was a good custom of the peaceful Amaurotian people. 

There was a Scribe, however, that struggled with such things. A young child, recently inducted into the ranks of these scholars, having been raised this way to fulfill this prestigious duty. Her name was Ishtar, and on this bright and early morning she could be seen scurrying from the building that housed the Scribes, small feet pitterpatting across the stones and grass towards the Macarenses Angle. Her robes billowed out in a messy fashion as she moved, a large book clutched possessively against her chest with both hands, gaze firmly fixed upon the floor. This particular Scribe was a step detached from her brethren, owing to the fact that she had been born explicitly for the purpose of conducting the duties of the scribe. This had, however, manifested into an extreme form of what is now known as “social anxiety”, an aversion to her fellow citizens , a rather pronounced stutter, a voice of surprisingly high pitch, and a tendency both to overthink things as well as not thinking at all when placed into uncomfortable positions. It was for these reasons that she made an extremely competent scribe at such a young age and short height, but it also happened to be the reasoning behind why she was outside at such an early hour. To boil it down, she was cripplingly shy.

Her rather labored breathing was heard as she approached the gigantic doors leading to the Bureau of the Administrator, aiming to head inside, find a quiet, secluded corner, and begin her day’s duties of recording the many new creations that had made their way into Amaurot by the talented minds of its people the previous day, and finishing off with what Ishtar was positively dreading – an audience with the Administrator, to record the most recent developments from the Convocation regarding the seemingly imminent catastrophe Amaurot was on the verge of facing. Ishtar was trying really hard not to think about it, because it made her shiver and sniffle, more so than usual. Her steps echoed through the large, empty room, and she raised her head for the first time since leaving her chambers, only to collide headfirst into the midriff of the large figure before her. A high-pitched squeak left her mouth under the hood and mask, and she bolted a hasty step backwards, almost losing her balance before standing straight up and clutching her tome for support, craning her neck upwards to the kind-hearted, supposed instructor with whom she had collided. He looked no worse for wear, being over double her size, but he still knelt down to brush a hand down the shoulder of her robe to iron out the crease, and to better speak to one of her smaller stature. 

Frozen into silence, Ishtar stood with a grasp on her tome, holding in a breath as she waited to be addressed. The larger instructor offered a reassuring tilt of his head, standing up again and beckoning to Ishtar, to a set of seats near the desk of the Bureau. Making her way over to where he now sat, she clambered up the large seat, sitting herself comfortably in a neat curl as she opened her tome to a fresh page, marked with the day’s date, and once more inclined her head to the administrator, who spoke the first words in the tongue of their people. 

“Greetings, child. I would ask the purpose of your visit to the Bureau today… but I suspect from your early arrival and my instructions to await a scribe, that you are the scribe that which I seek. I bid you welcome to our halls. How may I help you?”  
His words were warm and resonant, a friendly, helpful undertone of one who was genuinely intent on making the youngling next to him as comfortable as he could. Ishtar quietly cleared her throat and pointed to the page in her tome.

“Administrator, uhm… my name is Ishtar, a Scribe, and I-I was sent here to d-document the newest creations from your draft records into our l-ledgers…”  
Her voice was barely a resonant whisper, yet it was easily perceptible by the administrator, who gladly began to indulge in her request, explaining detailed accounts of each creation, down to the most minute. It was the second part of Ishtar’s duty that frightened her. She took a hesitant, shaky breath, looking directly down at the many newly detailed pages incanted mere moments ago. Her mind raced, unwilling to fully accept the responsibility she was obligated to do, and her hands shook in apprehension. She let out a loud gulp of air, attempting to calm herself, and the administrator noticed her shift in disposition, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. From her countenance, he knew what she was loathe to do. It was not a pleasant topic for most citizens of Amaurot… yet it was still her duty. He took a breath. 

“Little one, I am Hythlodaeus. It is my solemn charge to bring the news from the Convocation to you scribes… it pains me as much as it pains you to speak of the crisis our people are facing.”  
Ishtar nodded slowly, trying her hardest to compose herself as she kicked her legs out in front of her, dangling over the large edge of the seat due to her diminutive stature.  
“I-I know… I’m just… I don’t want this news every day... I don’t want everyone saying it’s hopeless. What if they can’t solve it? What if they… they c-can’t save us?”  
Ishtar’s tone was fearful, pleading. She wanted to be assured everything would be alright. She wanted someone to tell her that it would all be all right. She wanted something other than the portents of destruction she was forced to document each and every day as she woke. Hythlodaeus was doing his best.  
“Little one… we will make it through this. As we have always done. The Convocation are our wisest, our bravest. They shall deliver us from this. Have they ever failed us?”  
A twinge of doubt slipped into Hythlodaeus’ tone at his last few words. The disappearance of Azem began to weigh heavy on his mind, and the vacant seat of the Fourteenth they had left behind. The Wanderer, they called them… the Convocation was in disarray. Ishtar remained unconvinced, her bright mind inquisitive and active.  
“B-But…I guess not…I-I’m sorry.” She whispered an unnecessary apology, yet not finished her dialogue. “D-Do you think… maybe one day… I could meet them? The Convocation, I mean. Elidibus, and Lahabrea, and Igeyorhm… they’re all so brave, a-and smart, and I really want to t-thank them for everything they’ve done for Amaurot… um, um, especially Azem!” 

Hythlodaeus’ mind was sent reeling. 

“They’re so wise, and important! Every time they’re in a meeting, good things happen! The helpers who have told me before said so! I really want to meet them and tell them how thankful I am!”  
Ishtar’s mood seemed much improved by what seemed to be her role model. Her mind was constantly catapulting over and over on itself, finding solutions to its own state of disarray as quicky as it set upon her. Hythlodaeus, on the other hand, was now as nervous as Ishtar had been moments before. The mention of the same vanished Seal he had been thinking about sent him into damage control.  
“Little one… the Convocation is very busy at present… especially Azem. Theirs is the most important duty right now, to resolve our current situation. I am sure you will get your chance, just, after we have seen this through, yes?”

Hythlodaeus’ half-truths and blatant lies deflated Ishtar’s confidence immediately. She sunk back into her curled up position, her hands quavering again, hugging her tome to her chest in a vain attempt to comfort herself where the administrator had now failed her. It was hardly his fault, though. Ishtar was a very troubled child, and it was only what everyone could do to try and calm her out of her own self-inflicted states of paranoia, anxiety, and general overthought. She looked up from her tome, scanning the room with hesitant eyes, withdrawing into herself as she forced herself to open the large book to a new page, looking back at Hythlodaeus, who nodded slowly, and held out his hand close to hers, and their energies joined to create an accurate record of the early Convocation meeting’s events, appearing neatly onto a fresh page, which Ishtar promptly snapped shut, wishing to purge all thoughts about the Convocation, the crisis, anything bad that was happening in Amaurot, in her home, her world. Because if she lost any of it, she would lose herself. And that was what she feared more than anything.

She looked over at the administrator, at his mask, his cowl, his flowing robes, his gaze locked warmly onto her, the little one, the child scribe, the innocent chronicler, born into so heavy a burden. She began to shift, scooting herself over to the larger one’s body, in an unexpected display of braveness. What Ishtar needed was comfort. Hythlodaeus was slightly taken aback, having heard of the reclusive nature of this little one who now leaned against his side, her head nestled into the soft material of his robe, curled up beside him, seeking warmth amidst the cold world she had been bred to exist in. He reached an arm to wrap around her, pulling her in and adopting the role of the fatherly protector, rubbing her back as she held her book to her, the source of her discomfort, the one she was forced to carry with her wherever she went. He looked into the distance, out onto the Macarenses Angle and he looked to the skies, and what lay beyond. It was then that Ishtar spoke, a hushed, scared plea, one that most befit the young child that she was, accompanied by a sob that broke her heart, and Hythlodaeus’ composure.

“H-Hythlodaeus… I’m scared…”

**Author's Note:**

> The first in my first proper series of fics: Rebirth! These will go from Pre-Final Days, to Final Days, and then eventually reaching up to where K'lenni starts her story in Eorzea, as a green adventurer, and amnesiac Ascian, following the Seventh Umbral Calamity. I hope you will enjoy her story as much as I do writing it, as we grow with her and see what truly happened all those years ago that made her who she is today.


End file.
